Curing the Innocent
by Emo Bangs
Summary: When John's whole life is destroyed by a bunch of punks, who will pick up the pieces? How will he live knowing that he will never be the same again? Can the only person he's ever loved be able to save him before it's too late? Bobby John. Warnings inside.


Title: Curing the Innocent

Author: The same person whose laptop died on her and lost all her story info

Pairings: Intended to be a Bobby John fanfiction but it's set around John more.

Rating: M for swearing, violence (not really, I'm just being sure), and sex...and you know...death shrugs as if nothing

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters I write.

Summary: When John's whole life is destroyed by a bunch of punks, who will pick up the pieces? How will he live knowing that he will never be the same again? Can the only person he's ever loved be able to save him before it's too late?

Notes/Warnings: I wrote this as a Christmas present for my friend. It's set a couple years after the third movie. There's some rough edges (a lot actually) and it's unbetaed so it's bound to have tons of mistakes. So umm...yeah...enjoy I guess.

* * *

Coldness was setting in all around him as he walked down the street. He wrapped his jacket around his figure tighter. The stares of all the people around him were even colder than the temperature. He couldn't stand either.

He knew exactly why they looked down on him the way they did. They only saw him as a mutant. A dangerous mutant at that. They didn't see him for who he actually was, a human being. None of them wanted to believe that there was something more to him than just his powers.

There was a whole other side to him. Sure, he loved his powers and there was nothing more amusing to him than causing some chaos. But there was a part of him that just wanted to live life without anyone giving him any crap. To just live life free and without a care.

That, however, was not an opinion for him. Wherever he went, there were people constantly putting him down. They told him that he shouldn't even be allowed to be a part of their community and that he was simply a danger to himself and those around him.

Before, he was willing to at least tolerate them if they were willing to do the same. But they pushed him right over that line and suddenly, he wasn't as friendly as he could've been. There was no longer any chance that he was going to respect the very people who didn't respect him.

He rounded the corner to the front of his apartment building. He sighed. Once again, he had to return to his shitty apartment, which he was paying far to much for. But still, it was the closest thing he had to a home.

Almost reluctantly he began walking towards the door. Before he could even reach for the handle, someone gripped his wrist tightly. He gasped in surprise as he gaze drifted up to see who had grabbed him. He was speechless to see...

"You're that guy from the museum?" John questioned, smirking. "The guy who's ass I totally burned."

"And you're the obnoxious little punk who did it," the older man wore a sly smile. "You made me look like an idiot."

John chuckled. "I can second that."

"And do you know what I do to people like that?" the man questioned.

"Run away crying for your mommy?" the blonde guessed.

"No, I beat the shit out of them," he corrected.

John shook his wrist from the man's grip. "Do you honestly think you can beat me up? You'd think you would've learned a lesson from last time, wouldn't you think?"

The other man stepped forward, forcing John to take a step back. When he did, he found there were at least four other guys behind him. One of them grabbed his arms and violently twisted them behind his back.

He cringed at the dull pain. The man approached him; a smug look was plastered on his face. "Suddenly you're not so tough." He motioned the bigger guy who was holding John towards a dark alley. "Better not to do this where there'd be any witnesses."

John figured when the guy threw him against the ground that he was screwed. He tried desperately to start a flame, even the smallest flame, but his efforts were proved useless when one of the five men hit him square in the jaw.

"What the fuck is your problem, man?" John yelled, wiping away the blood that was running down his chin.

"You."

Frantically, he tried to get to his feet and maybe, just maybe, he'd stand a chance. But before he could stand, someone else was taking another hit at him. A sick cracking noise was the only indication he'd been punched in the nose. Well, that and the horrible pain.

Somehow he managed to get to his feet but he was unsteady. He swayed from side to side trying to find balance. He leaned against the wall, waiting for the next move to be made. A smaller skinny guy walked up to him, drawing his fist back to strike.

John beat the man to the punch and kicked him in the balls with all the force he could muster. As the man held his crouch and fell to the ground, John couldn't help but let a laugh escape his bloody lips.

"You think that's funny?" the brunette inquired, moving closer to where John was leaning against a dirty wall. As the man drew closer John could see a thick needle in his hands. "It won't be so funny after this." After that statement, it hit him. John knew exactly what was in that needle.

He doubled his efforts to get away now. Two guys, however, were holding his arms down as he tried to trash about. He was shaking his head vigorously. For once in his life, he was displaying the fear that was running throughout his whole body.

His mind couldn't even grasp the concept of what he was experiencing. In mere seconds, the cure would be forced onto him and he would, involuntarily, lose his powers forever. The worst thing about all of it was the fact that there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

Viciously, the needle was inserted under his skin. He winced; he could practically feel the liquid seeping into his blood stream. His whole body was weak and his knees buckled, causing him to fall to the ground. The five men around him were laughing loudly.

It made him sick. He shivered, a huge wave of cold air hitting him. He didn't know what to do. If there was anything he _could _do. At that point, he was just waiting for the men surrounding him, mocking him, to leave. With a hard kick to the stomach, they walked away amused by their violent act.

John couldn't move. He was petrified by the reality settling all around him. He didn't want to think about it but the thought kept reentering his mind. He no longer had his powers. No longer could he blow things up, light things on fire or raise any sort of hell.

He knew he had to get up and head up to his apartment. But his legs felt like jelly and his head throbbed at even the slightest movement. The memory of the previous events was still vivid in his mind. He could see the man approaching him with the needle, he could feel the it piercing his skin but worst of all, he could feel something missing. His powers.

Leaning against the wall for support, he stood from the cold ground and stumbled out of the alley. Once in the lobby of the apartment building, multiple people were staring at him. If the situation had been different, he would've glared at them. But, as pathetic as it was, he couldn't muster up enough energy to do so.

Of course, his apartment _had _to be on the top floor. He limped over to the elevator, trying his hardest to ignore all the attention he was drawing. When he got on the elevator, there was only one person. A small child. John smiled bitterly. Just great.

Ignoring the child, he grabbed the rail, not trusting his legs. The elevator lurched upwards and John nearly fell to the floor. After that, he only gripped the railing tighter. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, trying to rid himself the desire to punch the closest thing to him.

Seeing as that was a younger child, no older than six, he decided that wouldn't look very good. He could see the headlines now. Young child nearly beaten to death by deathly-looking male. That was not something he really needed in his life.

The kid's eyes had such a gleam of innocence. It made John ill. The such innocence that a child could have in the cold world they lived in. He thought back on his life. Even when he was a child, younger than this one, he didn't have that sort of innocence. He never had a sense of home or security.

Hardly had a family; his mother was always at work and his dad was usually drunk most of the times. His dad would just sit in his chair in the living room yelling at the TV and anything else that crossed his path. John learned the first time his father hit him to stay out of the man's way.

After her shift, his mom would come home and that's when the real hell would begin. His mom would start yelling at her husband for being a lazy ass. John agreed with her, though he would never verbalize his opinion on the matter. His dad would scream back at her, calling her a bunch of horrible names.

At the time, John had no clue what any of them meant. He was only a little child, but he knew they were insulting things to say. Many years later, when he learned the meaning of the words, he grew angry at his dad and confronted him about it.

The man was sitting watching the latest football game. He barged into the room and walked right up to the man, blocking his view of the TV. He was shoved out of the way. "Get out of the way kid! I'm trying to watch my team get their asses beaten."

"No dad!" John had shouted. "I have something say to you."

"Oh really?" the man questioned. "And what is that?" John had so many things he wanted to say to his father at that moment but for the life of him, he couldn't even speak of one. The man laughed at him. "Thought so. You're just as submissive as your mother. You're both useless little pieces of shit." he muttered, flopping back down in his seat.

John just stood in the middle of the living room, staring at the man. He didn't do anything for the longest time. He wasn't sure what he was suppose to do. Part of him wanted to bash the man's skull in but the other part of him wanted to walk away and go to his room, safe.

Before he could do either, something else happened. The man was lighting his cigarette and John was glaring at him, wishing he got what he deserved. Seconds later, exactly that happened. John wasn't sure how, but that one little flame multiplied itself and landed on his father's sleeve.

The fire spread quickly traveling up the man's sleeve. He jumped from his seat and flailed his arm around, attempting to put out the flame. John was stunned to say the least as the man ran into the kitchen.

He heard the sink turn on. Anything after that he didn't hear, seeing as he was running to his room as fast as his legs would allow him. He slammed and locked the door behind him; he rushed over to his night table and opened the drawer, searching for something.

At the back, he finally felt what he was reaching for. He simply gazed at the silver lighter, silently wondering. He was curious but did he really want to know? Flipping open the top, he started a small flame and concentrated on it, like he had before.

His face contorted with horror as the flame grew larger. He closed the lighter, putting out the flame. Dropping the lighter, he began to breathe heavy. His mind couldn't grasp what had just happened. He shook his head, confused. What the hell was wrong with him?

A childish voice brought him out of his painful memories. "Are you okay, mister?"

"Fuck off."

The tugging on his pants persisted. "Mister," the kid nearly whined. "Do you need some help? I can go get my mommy! She's really good at solving problems."

"No! And I don't need any fucking help from a six year old!" John exclaimed, angrily. "And if I ever scrape my knee or some kid calls me a loser, something skin deep like that I'll be sure to find her. But there is nothing your mom can do to heal me emotionally. There's nothing anyone can do to help me!"

The kid's eagerness faded away as he stood on his tip-toes. John raised an eyebrow, confused at the child's actions. Seconds later, he could hear a quiet whispering. He could just barely make out what the kid was saying. "Maybe you should ask God for help. He's always listening. God loves to help. He wants us all to be happy."

"Well fuck God! If he wants everyone to be happy then he's not doing his job. At least he's doing a shitty job of it! If he wanted everyone to be happy, he'd get rid of any prejudice and bigots were are so against anything that's different! If he wanted everyone to be happy, he wouldn't let people die and he definitely wouldn't let other people kill others. If he cared in the least, he wouldn't make us suffer so much."

"You know, if you pray to God tonight and apologize, he'll forgive you," the kid preached. John was just about ready to strangle the kid. Luckily, there was a loud ding, signaling that they'd hit the top floor. Had this not been his floor and he'd been stuck with that child for another minute, he probably would've somehow killed that kid. Or at least beaten him pretty badly.

He took a key from his pocket and opened the door to his apartment. Stepping inside, he shut the door behind him and looked around the room. In that moment, John began to analyze his life. He was twenty three living in a shitty apartment with no real goal in life.

Before, he just lived to have fun and live in the moment, not really caring about any consequence he might have to pay. But now, after losing his powers, he had nothing. His whole life was pointless and it was barely getting started.

These thoughts raced through John's mind, constantly mocking him. Telling him he was worthless and life would be better without him. Anger coursed through his veins. Suddenly, he felt the need to wreck something. To cause chaos. To destroy whatever was in his sight.

On a unstable coffee table in his view, he could see the most valuable thing in the room. Which was rather sad, considering it was a twelve inch TV that only got ten decent channels, if he was lucky. None of that matter, however, as he crossed the room and took hold of it.

Without thinking, he threw it with impressive force against the wall. He watched as it shattered into hundreds of pieces. Satisfaction rushed over him. But it wasn't enough. He needed to feel a greater sense of that relief.

He grabbed the table beside him and hurled it into the kitchen. He heard the table break as it hit a bunch of dirty dishes. A few plates fell to the ground broke as well. He could see the rest of the dishes unharmed. Not for long. He had his sights locked on one glass in particular as he ran into the kitchen.

He swung his arm at the cup and it tumbled off the counter to fall onto the ground. He stepped forward into the pile of glass. Pain shot up his legs as multiple glass shards broke through the thick barrier of his skin. He winced, putting the pain out of mind. Grabbing the other glass, he chucked it into the living room.

Taking the rest of the dishes, he threw them around the apartment. He shifted his footing slightly, feeling a thick piece of wood pressing against the pads of his foot. He stepped down hard allowing the wood to slip beneath his skin.

He could feel something wet on the bottom of his feet. Without looking down he knew it was blood. There were still at least five different pieces of glass stuck in his foot and one chunk of wood. He could hardly put any pressure on either of his feet but still he went on.

His chest was heaving as he entered the main area once again. Walking over the glass, he turned over the other table in the room causing it to knock into the couch. When he did that, he heard something hit the floor. It was small and barely made a noise but he could hear it distinctly.

He turned around, his eyes focusing on the rectangular object. His upper lip twitched in blind fury as he launched himself at the lighter. The second his hand came in contact with it, memories flooded his mind. Memories of discovering his powers, of the mansion, of Bobby, memories of his life completely falling apart.

He screamed in pure rage, throwing the lighter at the wall with all the power he had left. He snapped into two. He walked over to it and stepped on it, putting all his weight on it. It was no longer recognizable, laying on the ground in numerous pieces.

He nearly crashed into the wall, falling to the floor. His feet burned with agonizing pain. He tried to calm his breathing but found it difficult. Looking around his apartment, he surveyed the damaged he'd done.

His TV was broken, he'd ruined both of his tables, and his dishes were in pieces all around his apartment. He felt a drop of something fall onto his head. He looked up at the ceiling and saw a huge stain, caused by the rain that was gathering.

A few more drops of rain fell, landing on his face. He had no energy left from his rampage to even more an inch to the right. So instead he just sat there, completely drained, willingly letting himself been drenched by the rain that reflected his sorrow.

* * *

Bobby groaned in frustration as he hung up the phone. He'd been calling John for the past couple days. John had never missed one of their "get-togethers" ever before. Two days ago, he and the blonde were suppose to play a game of basketball at the local park.

John hadn't been there and it was starting to worry Bobby. He called John after an hour of waiting that day but he didn't answer. After that, in the next two days, he called at least fifteen times; John hadn't answered any of them.

On the third day, he called the blonde twice more. Neither of his calls were answered. He knew for sure that something was wrong. Whenever he called John, the blonde could at least return it and tell him to fuck off and leave him alone. He hadn't heard from the other man in days.

He jumped in his car and drove off, heading towards John's apartment. It only took ten minutes to reach the apartment building. Thousands of possibilities ran through his head as he entered the building. He pressed the button to the elevator.

He only waited a few seconds before he ran over to the steps. He flew up multiple flights of stairs up to John's apartment, which just _had_to be on the top floor. Running down the hallway, he stopped at the third door to the right.

He knocked on the door many times but there was no sign of sound of movement from behind the it. This worried Bobby immensely. "John!" he yelled, banging his fist against the door. Still there was nothing. He tried calling the blonde three more times then tried the doorknob.

He found that it was unlocked and opened the door. What he saw when he did, shocked him to say the least. The apartment was completely torn apart. The small TV John bought was on the floor, the screen shattered and he could see the tables were turned over, violently.

The apartment looked like total hell. Bobby took one step into the room and heard a sharp crunch underneath his feet. He stared down at the ground and saw glass all over the floor. He gasped when he saw blood on the floor as well.

He ran into the apartment, calling out John's name. "John! Where the hell are you?" he went around the island separating the kitchen from the living room and saw the blonde sitting against a wall, his knees to his chest. His head was tilted back to rest against the wall. "John!" the other man, however, didn't even acknowledge his presence.

Bobby crouched beside him, taking a closer look at his friend. He almost did a double take as he saw tears streaming down John's face. He had never in his whole friendship with John _ever _seen him cry. His face was oily and his hair was matted down with dirt.

It was obvious the man hadn't showered at least four days. His skin was extremely pale and he was shivering horribly. He grabbed the blonde's hand trying to calm him down. John flinched at his touch, surprising Bobby.

Although John was wearing his usually baggy clothing, Bobby could tell he had lost weight. He was abnormally skinny, even for him. "John, I need you to answer this for me okay? Why haven't you been taking care of yourself?"

He didn't get a response as John just kept staring at the still leaking ceiling. A sparkle of glass caught his eye and drew his attention to the smaller man's feet. He could see dried blood covering both feet which were pierced by glass and chunks of wood.

He examined the wounds closely and saw they were probably infected. Bobby was no doctor but it didn't take much to conclude this wounds were inflicted days ago. The only question now was: why?

Panic suddenly took over him as his breathing increased. "John, you need to go to a hospital! Now!"

John shook his head, muttering his refusal. He swatted Bobby's hands away when the brunette tried to pick him up. He shook his head again, denying the brunette's actions.

"You have to!" Bobby insisted. "It's a miracle you're still alive! I'm almost one hundred percent sure you've got an infection and god knows how much blood you've lost. You haven't been eating or showering! John! You need medical attention!"

"No I don't!" John yelled. "I'm just fine."

"You are most definitely _not _fine!"Bobby argued, outraged by the blonde's denial. He sighed when he saw John's vulnerable state. "At least come back to my apartment with me and let me take care of you." he moved back to the blonde's side and moved to put his arm around his waist.

"What are you doing?" John questioned.

"Getting ready to pick you up because there's no way you're able to walk," Bobby answered. Sadly enough, John knew his friend was right. He didn't protest again as he allowed himself to be picked up. It was a good thing he no longer had any dignity because this would rob him of his last bit.

Luckily for him though, there were very few people in the path from his apartment to Bobby's car. John almost smiled upon seeing the brunette's car. He could recognize it easily. It was Scott's old car. Didn't really surprise him at all. Bobby always was his favorite.

Bobby, amazingly, managed to open the passenger door, never once setting him down. He placed the man in the seat and went to buckle him up. John put his hands over Bobby's. Both of them stopped, staring at each other.

"I'm not a baby," John muttered.

Bobby smiled back down at him. "I know." Unfortunately he was only momentarily distracted from the horrible reality of the situation. Something had to have happened to cause John to act this way.

As he got in the driver's seat he tried to look as calm and relaxed as he possibly could. Apparently, he failed. John gazed at him for a few seconds, a look of sorrow written clearly on his face, then he stared out the window at all the passing buildings.

The rest of the ride neither of them said anything. Neither of them knew what to say. John knew he'd eventually have to tell Bobby. He knew the brunette would pester him until he did so. He decided that, until that moment, he was going to just keep quiet.

Bobby could tell exactly what John was doing. He'd done it his whole life. John had always bottled up the things that were eating away at him and then he'd only tell him when he was constantly annoyed. Bobby wasn't going to press the matter any further for now. He could tell it was serious.

When they pulled up to the apartment building, John remembered the other times he'd been to Bobby's apartment. It was much nicer than his, not that it took a lot to accomplish such a task. The majority of the times he was over there was when he somehow screwed up in life. It was almost reassuring to John that this time, it wasn't his fault.

He waited for Bobby to run around the car and take him into his arms. "You know," Bobby joked, lifting the blonde from his seat. "I kinda feel like prince charming sweeping his Cinderella off her feet."

Normally John would kill him for such a comment but he didn't. Ironically, Bobby's heart sank when John didn't mock him. "Oh come on John, that was just asking for it."

"Yeah, I know," John agreed. " I guess I'm just not feeling up to mocking you mercilessly right now."

Without another word, Bobby carried John up to his apartment which to his relief was on the third floor. Once again John was amazed at how his friend managed to get out his key and unlock the door, still holding him steady.

Bobby set him down on the couch gently. He then ran into the bathroom and began running warm water. Seconds later, he came back into the living room, his sleeves rolled up. John had a sad smile on his face. "When I was little, before my dad began a drunk, he'd always run a bath for me."

Bobby said nothing as he lifted John off the couch. They went into the bathroom, Bobby being sure not to bang John's feet against the wall. He did _not _want to deal with those consequences.

He placed John down on the edge of the bathtub. "I figured you probably hadn't showered in a few days so I ran a bath for you. Use soap," Bobby instructed. "Once you're done just call, kay?" He walked out of the room, giving John his privacy. He headed into the kitchen began making some of his famous chicken noodle soup.

John lowered himself into the hot water, hissing as it hit his wounds. The pain in his feet eventually faded. He had finally relaxed for the first time in days. His mind was trying it's hardest to suppress his memories but he wasn't allowing it to do so.

Memories were the only thing keeping him alive. They reminded him of his past and how he never wished to sink that low ever again. They showed him that even when his whole life was spiraling to hell, things couldn't get any worse.

For some people, that was no way to live life. They lived to reach their goals and were on the fast track to success. John however didn't and definitely wasn't. He lived to just to live and barely got by. But that was once enough for him; it made him happy.

When he thought about it, with his powers gone, nothing made him happy anymore. Nothing thrilled him, excited him. Nothing could possibly erase the pain that had been inflicted upon him. He was convinced that if Bobby had not come by, he would've slowly killed himself.

Bobby was right; he hadn't showered or eaten since that night. In fact, he hadn't even moved. He couldn't. He was exhausted and probably in the worst pain of his life, well, physically at least. Even the slightest movement would bring him an excruciating amount of pain.

Then, came along Bobby. The same Bobby that could bring him out of the worst moods, though he'd never show it. The same Bobby that opened his door at three in the morning when John came knocking, completely hammered.

Bobby was his only friend back at the mansion. No one else put up with his bad attitude like Bobby did. Everyone just thought he was rude and arrogant. To Bobby, he was just...John. It was the first time in his life someone had accepted him for who he truly was.

He was thankful for that. Somehow Bobby knew. John didn't have to say a single word and Bobby could read his every emotion. Sometimes, it was annoying. Actually, _most _of the time it was _really _annoying but John wouldn't give it up for anything.

He could tell without seeing his friend or even hearing a footstep that the brunette was pacing back and forth in the living room, running his hands through his hair. Bobby had no clue how to deal with him this time. He always found a way though.

When he was actually facing the stressful situation, he could keep his cool. Not stuttering or shaking or anything. It was ironic though. When he got away from the situation, he freaked out. Panic and uncertainty took over nearly driving him insane every time.

He could have no possible solution of how to fix the problem at hand. But when he confronted the problem head on, he knew exactly what to do. John had never been one for helping people or quick thinking. Actually, he hardly ever thought before doing something stupid.

He was the total opposite of his friend. Bobby analyzed every move he made. He always did the right thing. He could balance his friends, his work, and still have time to have a little bit of fun. He was easily set for a great life. John wasn't.

He grabbed the soap Bobby had mentioned and began rubbing his body with it. It was shocking. John almost smiled. The soap smelled exactly like Bobby always did. It brought back pleasant memories for once.

Their first kiss. Ironically enough, Bobby was getting ready for a date with Rogue. John had not been very happy about the whole thing. He was sitting glaring at his friend from his bed. His arms were crossed over his chest.

Bobby tried not to pay attention to the angry blonde. It was becoming increasingly tough considering John had begun yelling at him. "You're an idiot you know!"

After the third time hearing this insult, Bobby broke down and started screaming back at him. "Oh! Am I? And why is this? Because, unlike someone I know, I actually have a date on a Friday night?"

"You're such a dick," John replied, almost casually. He watched as Bobby approached his bed.

"I am so sick of you and your negativity!"

"Oh no! Am I being too negative?" John asked, exaggerating a whiny voice. "Oh wait. I just realized I don't care."

"Look," Bobby began. "I don't know what you're problem is..."

"Her," he interrupted, uncharacteristically calm. Bobby stopped in his tracks and stared at his friend. He knew exactly what John was saying. Although the blonde didn't appear to catch onto his knowledge he heard it loud and clear.

He joined John on the bed, hovering over him. John just laid on the bed, confused. He couldn't find any words and he couldn't move. But it wasn't like he wanted to. This was exactly what he wanted. He just waited until Bobby leaned down and captured his lips in a passionate kiss.

John wrapped his arms around Bobby's neck as their lips moved together. John was surprised. Never in his life had he ever thought that moment would actually happen. Bobby, on the other hand, was in heaven.

He pulled away after the few moments of pure bliss they shared. John inhaled the other teen's scent. He smelled like their bathroom always did in the morning. To John, it was reassuring and would always remind him of his friend.

After washing and rinsing his hair, he figured he was done with his bath. "Bobby!" he called, trying to hide the fact that he was flat out miserable. Not like it mattered much, Bobby probably already knew. Barely three seconds later, the brunette came running into the bathroom.

"You done?" he inquired, grabbing a towel. "Uh...I'm not sure how we're going to do this..."

"Just bring the clothes in here and hand me the towel, I can get out on my own." Bobby was about to question him but not before he said a word. He found it best not to argue. He knew how independent John was.

After bringing the clothes into John, Bobby headed back out to the kitchen. He glanced at his soup to make sure it was cooking well. When it was he began pacing again, worrying that John might slip or he might be in too much pain to get out on his own.

Each minute he waited was like hell for him. He could hear John growling softly every now and then. He wanted to run right in there and help him but he knew John wouldn't allow that. It was miracle he'd been so obedient in the first place.

Ten minutes had passed. Bobby had decided if he wasn't out in the next five, he was going in, whether John liked it or not. As though given a cue, John came limping out of the bathroom, trying not to put too much weight on either of his feet. If things were different and he didn't think John would kill him, Bobby would've burst out laughing.

He told John to lie down on the couch as he rushed into the bathroom and brought out the first aid kit. He looked at John's feet. He could almost hear John mentally groaning. John had never been one to cope with pain well. Bobby had learned that a long time ago.

He and John were out in the courtyard hanging around, doing nothing in particular. There was a tall tree. It was legendary. No one had ever made it to the top, no powers of course. He and John were examining it when the blonde declared he could climb it.

He'd gotten further than all the other people who tried (their names were carved into the tree). The last initials he saw were S.S. He chuckled; he never would've thought Scott would do something as idiotic as climbing freakishly tall tree. Or any tree at all really.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his pocket knife. As he put the small dull blade to the tree, he lost his footing and fell to the ground. He'd landed on his arm and, not so surprisingly, broken it. He whined for days about how much it hurt and how itchy the cast was. John never climbed a tree ever again.

Bobby flipped open the kit and just stared at its contents for a moment. He took the tweezers and silently debated what he should remove first. He finally, after weighing the opinions, decided that he'd remove the sliver from John's left foot. He took the foot and placed it in his lap.

"This is going to hurt," Bobby warned him. "Like hell." He probably didn't need to add the last part but it thought he would, just so John couldn't tell him different. Grasping the tweezers, he could see a small piece of the wood, just barely breaking out of the skin.

He placed the tweezers over the shred of wood and closed them around it. He applied pressure, seeing the object inched out of John's foot slowly. He'd also noticed that John was screaming as each inch came out. He kept pulling however even though John was practically stabbing a knife through his heart.

It was almost out. Both of them were relieved. The relief was short-lived as he wood got stuck. Bobby couldn't get it through the small hole in John's foot. Cursing the world in general, he jerked his arm back harshly.

On the plus side, the wood came out. On the other hand, John was still crying out in pain. Bobby tried to sooth him but found that task quite arduous. Bobby could see two pieces of glass stuck in each of John's feet.

Removing the glass went almost exactly like removing the wood. It was a bit easier, thank god. But John made it obvious that he was still in pain. The landlord had called twice to complain about the noise. Bobby had apologized and promised to keep the noise down to a minimal. Like that would happen.

After cleaning the wounds that were now bleeding, he wrapped them in gauze and tapped them just tight enough to hold but not to the point of pain. John had finally stopped crying and now only sniffled now and then.

A bing filled the apartment. Bobby jumped up at the sound and headed into the kitchen. He grabbed a bowl and filled it with the hot soup. Opening the door to his right, he took a spoon and dipped it into the bowl.

John watched as the brunette came back into the room with a bowl of soup in his hands. He placed the bowl down on the table. John gazed at the soup then at Bobby. "Aren't you going to eat it? And _don't_tell me you're not hungry." John continued to stare at him. "At least have a few spoonfuls."

John sighed and took the spoon. He'd eaten five, Bobby had counted, spoonfuls before he collapsed back onto the couch, full. Bobby snatched a blanket that was resting on the back of the couch and covered John with it.

John closed his eyes slowly. Bobby assumed the blonde was falling asleep and got up carefully as to not wake him. He heard his friend sob. Bobby turned around and saw John trying to blink away his tears. He knelt beside the couch.

"God Bobby," John whimpered. "I'm so pathetic."

Bobby instantly shook his head, denying such accusations. "No you're not John. Why would you say something like that?"

"Because it's true!" John insisted.

"John believe me," Bobby responded, taking John's shaking hand. "You are not pathetic. You are anything but that."

"Do you actually expect me to listen to you?" John wiped away his tears with his free hand. "You expect me to believe that? Well welcome to the real world Bobby because I just can't!"

His chest tightened as the lump in his throat refused to leave. It was such a simple sentence but it was so hard to verbalize it. He stared into Bobby's bright blue eyes. He took a deep breath and tightened his grip on Bobby's hand.

"John you're scaring me_What_ is going on?"

"A few nights ago, I was walking back to my apartment," he began, suddenly yet quietly. "A bunch of guys jumped me and started beating the shit out of me in the alley next to my apartment building. It was the guy from the museum all those years ago. Somehow, I don't know how, he had the cure."

Bobby's breath hitched as he understood what John had just said. He averted his eyes from Bobby's ashamed of his confession. Looking around the neat tidy apartment, he continued, "They injected it into me. It was the worst feeling ever Bobby. Like someone was taking part of my soul.

I manged to make it back up to my apartment and completely lost it. I destroyed anything I could see. I didn't know what to do. I just didn't want to think about it. Anger just took over and I couldn't do anything about it."

For the longest time, Bobby remained still, his mouth hanging open in shock. He didn't want to believe it; he couldn't. But it was true. It was reality. It'd been John's reality for the last few days. It horrified Bobby to know that John had been through a traumatizing incident and was alone for days after, stuck in his memories.

His emotions took a dramatic turn as his shock was replaced by anger. His mind couldn't comprehend why someone, even a human, would ever do something like that. It was like injecting a human with mutant genes.

"How could they do that to you?" Bobby wondered, completely outraged. "Who did this John?"

"I don't know," John lied. He was only able to identify one of the men and there was no way he was going to tell Bobby was the freak form the museum. They'd put that incident _far _behind them. "They were just some random thugs."

"Then how the hell did they know you were a mutant?" Bobby questioned, his voice more rough and accusing than he had intended.

"Bobby, I'm practically a fucking mutant terrorist! People learn things about you when you're on the five o' clock news!" John screamed. There was an uncharacteristic tear running down his cheek. "If they catch me I won't be able to defend myself. I won't be able to fall back on my powers. I'll have nothing to protect me."

Bobby moved in closer to the blonde and grabbed his hand. With the other one, he wiped away the tear, caressing his cheek. "I'll protect you."

"I know." John closed the gap between them, pressing their lips together. Bobby's arm circled around his waist bringing him closer. John felt Bobby run his tongue along his bottom lip. Grinning he parted his lips, granting the brunette entrance.

Bobby's tongue brushed against his, exploring his mouth leisurely. Without break their heated kiss, John stepped back, being sure to bring Bobby back with him. John's back hit the door leading to Bobby's bedroom.

John hooked his fingers in the other's belt loops and pulled Bobby against him. Both of them were breathing heavily but that hardly interrupted their actions the slightest bit. Bobby tilted his head to the side kissing the other's neck.

John angled his head the other way, fully exposing his neck. His fingers, which were tangled in Bobby's hair, now trailed down his body to grasp lazily at the hem of the brunette's gray shirt.

Reaching behind him, John turned the door knob and stepped into the room. As they walked over to the bed, John lifted Bobby's shirt up and over his head. Throwing it elsewhere he pushed Bobby down onto the bed.

Straddling his lap, John leaned down pressing his body against Bobby's. For the first time since they'd become friends Bobby's skin was hot to touch. Not as hot as his was but it wasn't cold like usual. It made John smile as he ran his hands down Bobby's chest, enjoying the unnatural warmth.

"My my, someone's getting a little heated up," John chuckled.

"Just for you babe," Bobby breathed.

With new found desire, John launched himself down at Bobby, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss. Bobby's hands ran down his back and slipped under his shirt. He discarded the shirt, throwing it onto the floor. Their chests pressed together. Bobby hissed at the unfamiliar heat.

Without any warning, Bobby flipped their position, causing John to yelp in surprise. He pinned the blonde to the bed staring down at him. His cheeks were brightly flushed and his bangs were hanging over his eyes slightly. He brushed the bangs out of his face, seeing the lust and need clouding John's eyes.

Locking his arms around Bobby's neck, John brought him down for a kiss. The brunette ground down causing the smaller of the two to whimper. With an almost mischievous smile, John brought his hands down to the other's crotch.

One hand groped the slight bulge in his pants while the other worked on unbuttoning them. Bobby watched John in interest, his hands fumbling at the simple task. He decided to help the blonde and unbuttoned and unzipped his pants.

"Hey, just calm down, okay?" Bobby's voice was soothing and gentle. Nodding, John began undoing his own pants as Bobby removed his completely, along with his boxers. This time John fingers moved slowly, sliding the pants off his hips and onto the floor.

John's eyes drifted down Bobby's well sculpted chest to his erection. He bit his lip at the sight. Bobby had to be at least eight inches. Bobby noticed the gaze and grinned. He groaned when he felt John's hands wrap around him.

Reaching over he grabbed a small bottle off his nightstand. He poured some of the substance onto his fingers and placed them at John's entrance. He pushed one inside. John winced as a second finger made it's way in.

Bobby gripped John's erection to ease some of the pain as he added a third finger. He moved his fingers around making sure to stretch John the best he could. Bobby removed his fingers and rubbed some of the lube onto his member.

With much care, Bobby slowly made his entrance. John gasped, finding the feeling of Bobby inside him overwhelming. Bobby held still, enjoying the sensations taking over his body. It took an amazing amount of patience to wait for John to adjust.

Seconds later, however, John was moving his hips, begging Bobby to move. "God, Bobby!" he moaned, as Bobby pulled back out. He pounded back in with twice the force and was rewarded wit loud scream, ringing throughout the room.

Bobby's thrusts were rough and frantic. Their rhythm was anything but graceful. But that didn't matter to either of them. The only thing that did matter was getting closer and moving faster. Desperately, John tangled his fingers in Bobby's hair, bringing the brunette down to kiss his neck.

Their chests were heaving. Bobby could tell that John was close. It was the way his lips were parted, tongue dashing out to lick his dry lips. He closed his eyes and pounding in a few more times before he finally came, followed by John seconds later.

Bobby collapsed next to John, smiling at the blonde. He took one of his hands and laced their fingers together, kissing the palm of John's hand. With a yawn, the fire mutant snuggled against Bobby, barely feeling the hand snake around his shoulder before falling asleep.

Bobby stared down at his lover, brushing back the bangs from his face. For the first time since Bobby'd found him, practically dead in his apartment, the blonde looked generally peaceful. Finally, Bobby felt a sense of relief, that maybe John would be okay.

* * *

The apartment was dead silent the next morning when he woke up. Glancing over at Bobby, John got out of bed, picking up his clothes. After he dressed he, as quietly as possible, snuck out of the room. Once he was on the street, he shoved his hands into his pocket.

His mind was racing with the previous nights events. He could almost still feel Bobby against him. His head began to ache and his limbs grew sore. His vision became blurry. Stumbling down the street, he tripped into an alleyway.

Giving up his final bit of strength, he slipped down against the wall, his eyelids becoming heavy. As his eyes closed, a sad smile spread on his face. With his powers gone, not even Bobby could save him. The brunette had tried and he admired the effort but it wasn't enough.

Nothing ever was anymore. He knew that he wasn't going to last much longer. He'd known it since the day Bobby had found him in his apartment. A feeling deep down inside told him so. It told him that without his powers he had no reason to live.

There was Bobby. He'd always loved him. Before, he never had the chance to tell him so. But the previous night reassured him that Bobby knew and that the brunette felt the exact same way.

The first person to happen upon his body would be business man on his way home. He'd frantically try to get out his cell phone to call 911 but it was already too late. Bobby would find out and oddly enough, feel a sense of relive like the one clearly written on John's pale face.

He was finally free.

* * *

Umm...smiles sheepishly Please don't kill me. Thanks for reading! 


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